


Impulse and Logic

by fitzbiscuits



Category: Glee
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-11-13
Updated: 2013-11-13
Packaged: 2018-01-01 09:21:16
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,847
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1043141
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fitzbiscuits/pseuds/fitzbiscuits
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Blaine is a geeky physicist who's just a little too nerdy and weird for anyone's taste. Kurt is an aspiring actor who works at a diner and moves into the apartment across the hall from him. Blaine is immediately infatuated by his new neighbor, who just might be a little too out of his league. AU loosely based on The Big Bang Theory.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Impulse and Logic

He drags his feet up the stairs, step by  _endless_  step, as he carries their dinner for the night in a plastic bag. He’s been meaning to call the building manager about the elevator, which has been out of order for _two months_  now, but he hasn’t gotten around to it. Not yet, anyway. It’s just one of the many things on his list that he needs to complain about in the building. The showers are known to be quite uncooperative at times, and he knows that he’s not the only one having the same problem, because every once in a while, he’ll hear Mrs. Wilkins from 5A marching down the stairs with a towel on her head, a string of complaints and some curses here and there, as she makes her way down to the landlord’s room.  
  
It’s a small building with humble accommodations. Blaine and Sam had chosen it because it was what they could afford, considering their budget and the location being convenient to their work. They would’ve gotten something much better in Soho, but an NYU physicist and a Wal-Mart salesman’s combined salary isn’t really going to cut it.  
  
Sam trails behind him as he texts solemnly on his phone, his feet knowing just where to land. “Eric’s asking if we’re free this Saturday. He’s having a Halloween party over at his place.”  
  
Blaine scoffs. “Like anyone’s gonna come.”  
  
“Uh, we are.” Sam catches up to Blaine and walks beside him. “It’s gonna be fun. We could dress up as anyone we want without girls judging us. And look, you can finally wear your _Battlestar Galactica_  fight suit in public and make it seem okay.”  
  
“That’s the problem.”  
  
“Your fight suit?”  
  
“The ‘no girls’ part.” Blaine slows down on the third floor, letting his legs rest. “It’s always a sausage party at Eric’s. A stale, fowl-smelling sausage party.”  
  
“But that’s the beauty of it. Every once in a while, a guy’s gonna need his personal space. You know, isolate himself from the world with his own kind and let his inner manimal out,” Sam says in a serious tone, like he’s giving a lecture, and it’s amusing to hear about his insights on these things. “’sides, you don’t even like girls.”  
  
“Oh, I like them. I think they’re beautiful and understanding, and they’re really sweet…”  
  
“You just don’t want to sleep with them.”  
  
“I just don’t want to sleep with them.” Blaine smiles. He likes how he’s having this casual conversation with Sam without things getting uncomfortable. Sam’s used to it, and he was the first person to accept Blaine’s sexuality, no questions asked. They’ve known each other for years, going way back in high school. Despite going their separate ways in college, they still kept in touch, and the fact that they’re working in the same city, living in the same apartment, is nothing but serendipity. Or coordinated planning.  
  
Sam slides his phone into his pocket as they start on their third flight of stairs. “You know, Tina’s still pretty bummed about that.”  
  
“She’ll get over it. Eventually.” Blaine shrugs nonchalantly. “I mean, she was great and all, but she’s obviously just not my type.”  
  
“Yeah, what  _is_ your type, anyway?” Sam asks, and it’s the not the first time he did, considering the number of times he’s tried playing wingman for Blaine at some of the university’s mixers. It’s awkward most of the time, because they don’t—and  _can’t_ —really ask someone’s sexual preference at the beginning of a conversation, so most of their attempts just end up in nothing but polite smiles and awkward goodbyes.  
  
“I guess… well, for a  _guy_ … what anyone would say,” Blaine replies. “Just, you know… kind and sweet and thoughtful… can crack funny jokes and cook good food. Good looks wouldn’t hurt, either.”  
  
“You say that everytime, but nothing really happens. Be a little more realistic, dude. You set your standards too high,” Sam replies.  
Blaine chuckles softly. “Do I?”  
  
They finally land on the fourth floor, and Blaine’s about to open their door when he sees the open one across the hall from theirs. He pushes up his glasses to take a better look, and he shares a glance with Sam, before directing his attention back to the room. It’s only been a few weeks since Bill, the previous tenant from 4B, moved out and into his brother’s trendy (and significantly bigger) apartment in Soho so they could start their internet business. Bill was nice enough, although his room always reeked of salami that both Blaine and Sam could smell all the way from their apartment, and no amount of air freshener could change the way the hallway smelled whenever Bill opened his door.  
  
“New neighbor?” Blaine asks, glancing up at Sam.  
  
“Well, that’s obviously not Bill.”  
  
The man inside is unpacking a box on the coffee table. He’s tall, pale, and slim; his dark red button-up giving hints of firm and toned muscles underneath, and his black skinny jeans accentuating his long legs. His brown hair is brushed back to a perfect coif, and Blaine can’t really see his face, just the shadows of the features on his profile, but he thinks he might be a model. Or a really handsome businessman.  
  
He can faintly hear Sinatra’s smooth baritone coming from the room, and a concoction of vanilla and cinnamon filling the air. He takes a whiff. No trace of salami. “Not complaining, though. This is… a welcome change.”  
  
The man notices them standing outside, and Blaine swallows thickly, slowly taking a couple of steps towards the door as Sam walks beside him.  
  
“Can I help you?” the man asks, stepping closer towards he door. His voice is smooth, and there’s something very sweet and friendly in the way he speaks that immediately pulls Blaine in.  
  
“Hi, um…” Blaine’s mouth starts to feel a little dry. Up close, he notices the refined features of the man’s face, the blue glint in his eyes under the fluorescents, the pale glow of his skin, the rosy tint on cheeks, and— _god_  is hegorgeous. “No, we don’t mean to bother you. We just… we live across the hall. Right over there.”  
  
“Oh. That’s… nice.” The man nods, a bit amused at the statement, and Blaine doesn’t get it at first, but the look on the man’s face gives it away. His eyes widen and he shakes his head, trying to keep his internal surge of panic as discreet as possible.  
  
“No! I- I mean, not like that. We live together, but in separate… bedrooms. We don’t— we’re not—”  
  
“I know.” The man smiles softly, the corners of his lips curling up delicately.  
  
“Well, he is. I’m not.” Sam suddenly blurts out, hooking his thumbs on the front pockets of his jeans. Blaine shoots him a dirty look, and he just shrugs in response. The man raises his eyebrows, almost in amusement, but more of surprise than anything.  
  
Blaine sighs and looks back at the man sheepishly. “Sorry. He’s an idiot. I’m Blaine.”  
  
“Sam.” Sam nods.  
  
“Kurt,” the man says, extending his hand towards them. Sam shakes it first, then Blaine, who grips just a little too tightly and lets go when he realizes it. “Wow, that’s…” The man—Kurt, he calls himself—chuckles softly and wipes his palm on his jeans. “Wet.”  
  
“Sorry, I, uh… I’m a little sweaty,” Blaine says, voice small and almost terrified as he starts fumbling with the plastic bag of Chinese food in his hands.  
  
“That’s okay. Not the first sweaty hand I’ve touched.”  
  
“Oh, you, uh… you touch a lot of sweaty hands?” It doesn’t register in his brain right away, but the confused look on Kurt’s face and the grin that Sam’s trying to suppress are enough to make him realize it. He blushes, deep red, and the heat spreads from his cheeks to his neck.  
  
“No! I mean… don’t answer that. I wasn’t… supposed to say that.”  
  
“He sweats a lot. It’s very disturbing. You should see him in the summer, I mean  _my god_.” Sam laughs softly, and Blaine bites his lip, trying to ignore his friend’s comment and hopes that Kurt doesn’t take it too seriously. This isn’t the first time Sam’s tried doing this to him, so he isn’t even a little surprised, but that doesn’t make it any less annoying.  
  
“Don’t… don’t listen to him. He’s joking. I don’t sweat all that much. It’s not true.”  
  
Kurt just nods slowly, not really sure what to make of all this, but gives them a polite smile. “Right. Well… it’s nice to meet you both. Maybe we can have coffee some time, yeah?” he asks, eyes quickly shifting from Sam to Blaine, and Blaine lets the small hope that the question’s directed at him flicker.  
  
“Yes,” Blaine says, fast and eager, and Kurt raises his eyebrows a bit at the sudden answer. “I- I mean, I’d love to.  _We’d_ love to. Sam would love to, right, Sam?” he looks at his friend, who widens his eyes at him as if telling him not to tolerate this conversation any further, let alone dragging them both into a coffee date with this man that they barely know, but he nods nonetheless, unable to do anything about it.  
  
Kurt just looks at both of them for a moment, unsure of what to say next, so he settles for a simple, “Great, well… I’ll see you guys around, then,” and Blaine almost lets a small whine escape from the back of his throat as he watches the door close in front of him. He exhales, like he’s been holding his breath all this time, and he looks up at Sam before thumping him at the back of his head.  
  
“What was that about?” Sam asks as they walk to their apartment. Blaine fishes his keys out of his pocket and unlocks the door.  
  
“No, what was  _that_ about? Were you deliberately trying to make me look bad?” Blaine’s voice is sharp, not at all like how he’d sounded barely a minute ago.  
  
Sam rubs the back of his head as he walks past the door. “Well, you were already making yourself look bad. It’s not like you could get any worse,” Sam retorts, takes off his jacket, and puts it up on the rack as Blaine hangs his coat.  
  
“You weren’t helping.” Blaine puts the plastic bag down on the table and plops down on the couch, sinking back miserably. “And did you really have to point out the fact that I’m gay? It’s not really something you bring up on the first conversation, don’t you think?”  
  
“Unless you’re in a gay bar,” Sam replies, sitting down next to him and grabbing the remote before turning the TV on. Blaine turns his head to look at Sam, growing a little more irritated.  
  
“You don’t have to tell someone you’re gay in a gay bar, Sam. That’s why they call it a  _gay_ bar.”  
  
“How would you know? You’ve never been to one.”  
  
Blaine opens his mouth to speak, but thinks twice when he realizes that Sam’s right. He’s never been confident enough to go to a gay bar alone—or  _any_ bar, for that matter—and he would never drag Sam into one, as much as he’s been tempted to do so many a times. He could barely face people at the university mixers; he couldn’t possibly expect himself to handle a situation all by himself in a bar, of all places.  
  
He leans forward to take their food out of the plastic bag, when he stops to consider something. He looks at the door thoughtfully before looking back at the food. Furrowing his eyebrows, he looks at Sam, who’s already engrossed in an episode of  _Jersey Shore_ , five minutes in.  
  
“Wait, should we have invited him over for dinner?”  
  
Sam laughs, mocking, and Blaine feels a little ridiculed. “No.”  
  
“Really? ‘cause I think we should’ve invited him.”  
  
“Dude, no.” There’s a sense of urgency in Sam’s voice as he perks up and turns to face Blaine. “You can’t just ask someone out to dinner after the first meeting. It’s awkward and uncomfortable and it doesn’t end well. Do you not watch movies?”  
  
“Yeah, but technically, I’m not asking him outto dinner. I’m asking him  _in_. You know, like when Harry and Violet invite us over to one of their dinner parties, and it’s not weird ‘cause we live in the same building? That’s just what we’re gonna be doing,” Blaine replies, but there’s a hint of uncertainty in his voice that Sam doesn’t miss. He’ll admit that he’s terrified to have company over that he’s not too familiar with,  _attractive_ company at that, but he likes to think that it’s just in the spirit of being neighbors and nothing more. Going beyond that would be a little far-fetched, considering the fact that they’ve just met. And because it’s him, it would still probably be far-fetched in two years.  
  
“No, Blaine. It’s really not. Why would you even think that?”  
  
“Look, you were the one who said I needed to meet new people,” Blaine argues, standing up. “I’m _meeting_ new people. What are you getting so worked up about?” He walks towards the door, and Sam furrows his eyebrows at Blaine, watching as he walks past the TV.  
  
“Where are you going?”  
  
“I wasn’t really asking for your permission to invite him,” Blaine says, matter-of-factly, and opens the door to step outside. He walks across the hall, glances behind him, and smiles when he sees Sam following behind. Despite everything, his best friend always tries to be there to help him not choke on his words. Or just watch it happen, at least.  
  
He stops, stares at the door for a moment, and tries to recalculate the possibility of Kurt refusing his invitation to eat. It could really only end in two things: it’s either his new neighbor accepts his invitation, and they have a hearty and communal meal over Yangchow rice and fried noodles as they get to know more about each other,  _or_ he could just humiliate himself for nothing but a ‘no’. But either way, it still would be worth a shot.  
  
“Do you even know how to invite people over?” Sam hisses, and Blaine waves a dismissive hand at him. He knocks a little too loudly and it’s a little too rushed, but he takes a step back as the door opens, and there’s Kurt, blue eyes and all.  
  
Blaine smiles nervously, squeezing his hands together now that he doesn’t have a plastic bag to fumble with. “Hi, Kurt.”  
  
“Oh, hi. Is everything alright?” Kurt asks, voice hinted with concern, confusion, and surprise. Blaine pushes his glasses up and clears his throat, looking like he’s about to give a speech on a podium.  
  
“Yeah, everything’s great. Uh, listen.” He pauses, tries to review the phrases in his head before he messes them up because he feels like he’s two seconds away from saying something inappropriate. “Would you, um… Sam and I were— we were… I mean…  _I_ was, ‘cause he didn’t think it was good idea, but I think it is, and I just want you to know that despite what he thinks, I know that we’re going to be  _great_ neighbors—”  
  
Blaine gets cut off as Sam clears his throat rather loudly, and he knows he should probably just get straight to the point. Kurt has a confused look on his face, but he’s patient, and waits for Blaine to say what he crossed the hall for.  
  
“We have Chinese food in our apartment, if you… you know, if you want to join us or…” he trails off, smiling nervously as he waits for Kurt’s response.  
  
“Oh, you’re inviting me over to eat?” Blaine nods eagerly at Kurt, who turns to Sam as if he’s looking for verification with his invitation, but the blonde just gives him a small shrug. “Um… I’m actually… I was actually about to take a shower, ‘cause I’m heading out to meet with a friend later,” he says, looking back at Blaine. “So…”  
  
Blaine’s smile falters, the hopeful expression on his face quickly fading. Not that he was expecting much, and he’s already used to hearing a thousand other variations of the word ‘no’, but he can’t help the fact that it’s still a little disappointing. “Oh.”  
  
“I’m sorry.”  
  
“No, no, it’s okay. I was just… asking if you weren’t busy,” Blaine says, nodding.  
  
Kurt bites his lip. “Maybe we can do it next time?”  
  
“There might not be a next time,” Sam mumbles.  
  
“ _Sam_ ,” Blaine says pointedly through gritted teeth, looking up at him.  
  
“Can I get a rain check?” Kurt’s voice is hopeful—almost—and genuinely apologetic. Well, as genuine as Blaine likes to think. He’s heard that rain check alibi before, but none were ever cashed. He thinks for a moment, considers Kurt’s suggestion and looks as if he’s about to refuse, but he gives him a feeble smile. He’d never really had it in him to refuse these things, anyway. If anything, he’s grateful that he even gets as far as rain checks.  
  
“Yeah, that’d be great.” He nods. “I’m sorry to bother you. I didn’t know you were going out.”  
  
“No, it’s fine. Don’t worry ‘bout it. Thank you, though. For asking. It’s really sweet of you.”  
  
 _It’s really sweet of you._  Blaine couldn’t help the blush that tints his cheeks, and he lowers his head a little. Kurt just called him  _sweet_. No one’s ever called him  _sweet_. He’s always  _nice_ and  _polite_ but never sweet. He stops himself from making much out of it, because he has the tendency to make a big deal out of small things. These kinds of things. He lets himself on; it’s the reason why most of his ‘relationships’ have only ever existed in his head.  
  
“I better… take that shower.”  
  
“Oh yeah, yeah. Right. Go shower,” he says, and Kurt takes a step back, looking almost shy as he closes the door. “Goodnight!” Blaine blurts out, and Kurt puts his foot just in between the door and the frame, looks at him with a blank expression for half a second, before smiling softly.  
  
“Goodnight.”  
  
The door closes, and Blaine allows himself to stand there for a few more seconds, staring at the door with the silver ‘4B’ embossed on it, old and faded and dull. A stark contrast to the new tenant that lives behind it.  
  
Sam starts to walk back to their apartment. “Well, that was a bust.”  
  
“It wasn’t so bad. It actually ended better than I expected.” Blaine follows him back inside and closes the door behind him. He leans against it, and there’s that look on his face, a _dreamy_  look, and Sam starts to look worried.  
  
“Don’t.”  
  
“What?”  
  
Sam’s tone is almost scolding. “I saw the way you were looking at him, Blaine. I’ve seen that look before. I could practically see the little hearts in your eyes.”  
  
Blaine scoffs and walks over to the kitchen to get a glass of water. “I didn’t give him a look. And there were no hearts in my eyes. You’re exaggerating. He’s just our neighbor. Not every guy I meet is a potential mating partner, you know,” Blaine says, leaning against the kitchen counter. “You make me sound like a starved dog in heat.”  
  
“A starved dog in heat has more self control than you. And you’ve never even  _mated_ ,” Sam replies, which earns a glare from Blaine. “Do you remember what happened last time? And the time after that? And the time after the time after that? Every single one of the guys you tried to go after— they all rejected you. Why? Because you keep chasing someone who’s _way_ out of your league. Take Ben for example. Nice guy Ben, works at a coffee shop. Cute, has a charming smile, and what do you do? You ask for his  _number_ , right there with a line behind you, and you almost get a freakin’ asthma attack.” He brings his hand down to meet the tiled counter, smacking it for emphasis. “And Terry? You remember him? Guy at Wal-Mart, the one I work with? He was  _married,_  Blaine. To a  _woman_ , and he has three kids—”  
  
“ _Okay_ , I get it.” Blaine snaps, gripping his glass a little too tightly. “But I told you, Kurt’s just a neighbor.” Blaine puts his glass down on the sink and walks to the living room. He sits down, opens the small box from the plastic bag and opens a packet of soy sauce to pour it over the rice and noodles, mixing it with his chopsticks. They’ve both fallen into a state of silence that’s almost cold, and they can only hear the sound of Snooki’s annoyingly high-pitched laugh. Sam changes the channel to a football game on ESPN and lowers the volume.  
  
“I just didn’t want a repeat of last time, you know?” he mutters, continuing the conversation Blaine thought had ended. “I’m just lookin’ out for you.” He opens his own box, and tears the packet of soy sauce with his teeth before emptying it onto the rice. “You can get pretty… emotionally attached to the guys you pine over, and as someone who’s been living with you for four years, I’ve seen how ugly it can get. I just don’t want you to skin your knees pretty badly with this one.”  
  
Blaine’s only mildly irritated and offended with what Sam’s telling him, but he does have a point. With his past attempts to expand his horizons and venture into the field of romance—something which he’s highly inexperienced in—none of it had ever resulted into anything more significant. He’d bring home some guys from the mixers (with the help from Sam) and when he’s lucky, they do more than just play Jenga on the coffee table, but that’s about it. The longest he’d gone in a relationship was a week, and Peter Collins didn’t even know that Blaine had considered them in a relationship. And he’s okay with that. He’s  _used_ to that, but they both know that it takes him much longer to get over these things than the time it takes him to fall for someone, head over elevated heels.  
  
He chews, eyes flitting from his food to the television screen where someone scores a touchdown. “Fine. I’m not gonna pine over him, okay?” he says, but Sam’s known him for a little over a decade now, and he knows when he’s lying through his teeth.  
  
He looks at him, a little of disbelief and uncertainty on his face, and he sighs before saying, “You’re not done with him, are you?” and Blaine smiles, ominous and hopeful at the same time, as he pokes at his food. He glances at the door, knowing that it’s the only thing keeping him from the hallway that leads to the door right across the hall, where his gorgeous new neighbor conveniently lives behind.  
  
“No, probably not.”


End file.
